


A War Inside and Out

by 3ss3nc3



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Civil War, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Assassins and Hitmen, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben and Rey are assassins and they’re good at it, Cold War, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, POV Ben Solo, POV Rey (Star Wars), Rey Needs A Hug, SO MUCH FLUFF NEAR THE END, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3ss3nc3/pseuds/3ss3nc3
Summary: Ben and Rey are rival assassins from the US and UK during the Cold War era. As their assignments bring them closer, they get more and more creative as a way to show the competition up, and maybe, to possibly obviously flirt with their skills. And although they’d never admit it, some things they cannot do on their own.Inspired by a prompt from @reyloao3 on Twitter
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Phasma, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my third Reylo fic! For this one, I did a shit ton of research and a lot of events and things are as accurate to the real thing as possible, that is, as accurate as you can be with an American assassin Ben Solo being able to meet a British assassin Rey. 😊  
> Also, both of their previous confirmed kills are made up. Duh. And some artistic license was taken with some details pertaining to the actual assassin agencies and the like.  
> My military/espionage experience is limited to stories from my dad (he was in the U.S. Air Force), memoirs of military officers, and historical fiction pertaining to spies and the like. Please bear that in mind.
> 
> If you’re interested in my sources and stuff, please let me know in the comments.  
> Enjoy!

Rey  
  
The year is 1945. The United States currently occupy zones of Berlin, trying to hold Germany from revolt as it is hardly two months since Hitler’s death on April 30. Britain, France and the Soviet Union also occupy Berlin, and sometimes their missions and agendas clash…  
  
Rey Niima shivered in her light sweater as a cool breeze brushed across the Viktoriapark in Berlin, Germany. Although it was the beginning of July, the weather was still pretty mild, even chilly, especially in the dead of night as it was now.  
Rey regretted her choice of garb—having no prior experience in Germany she wore a knitted sweater that was more for show than any sort of warmth and dark canvas pants that didn’t impede mobility but were terrible insulators. She didn’t know how some women on previous missions had accomplished this in goddamn skirts.

Rey resolved to finish the job quickly and get back to her hotel, where a hot bath and a mug of her favorite tea were waiting for her.

She crept closer to the hilltop monument in the center of Viktoriapark, being aware of her every step. She knew that even the sound of one, small snapping twig would give her position away and instantly set anyone in her vicinity on alert.  
Including her mark.

Herr Schneider, an up-and-coming politician taking advantage of the civil unrest in the wake of Hitler’s reign. It had been two months since the Führer’s suicide, and Schneider and several others like him were struggling to gain traction and supersede the efforts of the Allied forces currently holding the peace.

Some were succeeding.

Like Herr Schneider, who Rey was there to kill.

Actually, ‘kill’, was an indelicate term, a gross oversimplification for something Rey simply considered her duty to her country and to her country’s allies. An agent of the British government, Rey was singled out from the ranks by the heads of British espionage to assist their Soviet associates abroad.

For several months now, Rey had been on retainer by an elite force in Moscow, assigned with the task of smothering uprisings in Germany before they even started.

To put it in simple terms, Rey was an assassin.

The title both thrilled and terrified her.  
Thrilled because it was exactly the type of job she was made for, both with her unassuming and unobtrusive demeanor, and extensive set of skills bequeathed to her by her years of training for the British government. She could blend perfectly into a crowd or melt into the shadows in a dark, silent location like the Viktoriapark. Her aim with a handgun of any caliber was uncanny, although in combat she preferred stilettos or better yet, her lightweight quarterstaff that she had had since she started Basic Training. Not that such a weapon could be concealed easily or be useful to her in such situations.

But it also terrified her because of the implications. Rey’s superiors in both Great Britain and the Soviet Union had assured her that she wouldn’t be held accountable for her actions; that every tyrant she eliminated would be considered a worthy sacrifice for the betterment of her world. Rey struggled to accept that, every day, every mark. When it came down to it, Rey never hesitated—her job and her country were too important to her—but in her off hours, when she was alone, she’d often picture the people she’d taken out.

They weren’t innocent—none were, and that helped, but Rey couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had just lowered her 9 mm and walked away.

These thoughts never left the solitude of her mind, and Rey always blocked them out when she was on a job.

Until tonight, she realised.

Rey cursed as she realized that while she was lost in thought, the moon had shifted positions, rising out of the clouds like the harbinger to failure.  
The park was lit with moonlight, casting a shadow on the other side of the monument, where Rey’s mark sat, as of yet unaware that his late-night smoke was about to be violently interrupted.

Rey steeled herself against any further lapses in concentration and placed one foot cautiously forward, feeling for any stray branches or dead leaves. She was directly behind her mark now, all that separated them an obelisk of stone memorializing a previous conflict of a century and a half before.

Something moved.

Off to Rey’s left, she felt the discrepancy of the space, the slight movement in the air that told her that the spot that was supposed to be empty was not empty.

The thing made a sound.

It was so slight, to any untrained ear it would seem a product of the wind, and not a slight scrap of fabric as the person took a step forward.

So far, none of Rey’s marks had personal security of any kind, and she’d never run into any trouble with bystanders. This was something new, but Rey’s mind was already racing to allow for this new development.  
She’d just have to move quickly, and do it before the other person had time to react; catch them off guard.

Rey calculated numbers in her head.  
She was seven steps or so from Schneider. The other person, from the noise he or she made, was about two meters from her and about four meters from Rey’s mark, given that the other person had to go all the way to and around the monument to reach Schneider.

Rey sprang, lifting her Beretta .09 in both hands and readying her finger on the trigger for a straight shot at Schneider as soon as she came around the monument.

But somehow, somehow, the other person was faster.

Rey was very agile and quite fast, being first in every footrace or sprint she’d participated in since childhood and up to Basic Training.

But still, the other person beat her.  
He—for Rey could now see that he was indeed a male, having broken from cover and moving toward Schneider with an intensity that was rather impressive—was very tall, which Rey guessed was the reason for his speed.

The man arrived in targeting range with Schneider mere milliseconds before Rey, and to her shock, he raised his own weapon—a Glock 17—at Schneider.

Someone else was going to take out her mark!

Rey was more irritated than shocked at this point. No one intercepted her kills. Before thinking it through, Rey tackled the man, his bulk only overcome by sheer surprise, and not by any force of her own.

Rey’s gun went flying, which wasn’t good, but she still had her stilettoes in her boot and her fists, which would do in a pinch.

The man was quick to recover, attempting to wrench free of her grip around his waist. She couldn’t pin him down for long, though, and he threw her off, flipping her onto her back.  
In her periphery, Rey was aware that Schneider was standing shock-still in shock, just watching them. She didn’t have time to dwell on this, though, because the man she’s tackled had brought his gun to bear on her. He’d actually somehow retained his hold on his weapon, Rey thought with a modicum of sheepishness.

Instead of just quaking before the gun, however, Rey hooked her ankle over the man’s wrist in a lightning-fast maneuver that instantly took her out of the gun’s aim, and she flipped back onto her feet, grabbing the man’s arm and pinning it behind his back.

The arm in her grasp was well-muscled, as was the man’s back. Rey couldn’t help but be distracted for a moment. The man was cut.

“Who are you,” Rey demanded fiercely, “and why are you targeting my mark?”

She didn’t doubt for a second that the man was strong enough to just shake her off, but he didn’t.

“Oh, so it’s your mark now, is it?” he replied, in a deep voice that was both soothing and intense at the same time. The voice was American in accent, and Rey couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

The American soldier-boys were so naïve and so annoying. Rey had run into her fair share of them around Berlin, and while she was flattered inwardly that they would pay her any attention at all, she cursed them aloud for their catcalling and sordid offers. This one would be no different.

“Yes, my mark.” Rey released the man’s arm and stepped back, snatching the man’s Glock from where it lay on the ground. Her own Beretta was several feet away, and so far apparently unnoticed by the man.  
She lifted the gun, aiming it at the man’s head.

“Now,” she said airily, “you are going to give me answers. Who are you and who assigned you to my mark?”

The man sighed, but seeing as there was a gun in his face, he complied with a tone of amusement, like one does with a child.

“I’m Ren—Kylo Ren. My handler assigned this job to me, and for the record—Schneider doesn’t belong to you. He’s fair game and also currently getting away.”

Rey forgot one of the most important rules of her trade—don’t take your eyes off an opponent. His condescending tone had irked her so much that she took the bait, darting her eyes to where Schneider had been.

Kylo Ren—or whoever he was, Rey didn’t believe that was his real name—was right, Schneider had collected his wits and was tearing across the park. 

But Kylo also intended to distract her.

While Rey’s focus was shifted, just for one moment, Kylo was able to take a step towards her and disarm her in one fluid motion. Rey wasn’t one to give up, though. She dropped to the ground suddenly, rolling to where her gun was and rising onto one knee with her weapon outstretched, aimed at Kylo’s head.

They were now at a stalemate.

“Nicely done,” Kylo said admiringly.

Rey shrugged off the praise. Her mark was gone; she wouldn’t let him distract her anymore. He’d caused her possibly one more day of work, if not more. She had to track Schneider down all over again, and Kylo was going to regret interfering.

“I suggest you take your Glock and get the fuck out of Viktoriapark before I shoot your meddling American ass,” Rey spat.

Kylo’s face twisted sarcastically. “You Brits, always with that mouth,” he chuckled.

Rey just sneered. She’d heard so much worse. And had returned much, much worse.

“Look, I wasn’t aware that someone other than the U.S. government had eyes on Schneider. I was just doing a job,” Kylo said, trying to placate the situation.

“So was I. And you completely screwed it up,” Rey fired back.

Kylo shrugged, the movement somehow less meaningful with a gun in his hands, pointed at her.

“I could say the same for you,” Kylo said, “how ‘bout this: you put down your gun, I go after Schneider, I kill Schneider, and you never have to see me again?”

Rey laughed harshly at the ridiculousness of his offer. “You can’t be serious,” Rey snorted, “as if you could ever manage it.”

Kylo frowned. “Are you insulting me? You, who was so easily distracted by the oldest trick in the book? You’re lucky you didn’t make such a rookie mistake earlier, or I would have shot you for sure,” he goaded, with a slight smile that could have been interpreted either as genuine amusement or petty condescension.

Rey shifted her grip on her handgun, getting a better view of the barrel lined up with Kylo’s head. 

There. That looked better. Very reassuring.

“Says the man who I disarmed in less than a second. Child’s play,” Rey retorted coolly, her professionalism taking over her tone and demeanor.

Kylo noticed the change.  
“Is it? You seem to forget that I have disarmed you twice now,” he said. His hands were steady, not even wavering, although he’d been holding the gun outstretched in both arms for over a minute now.  
Rey could feel her own muscles starting to burn, and she wasn’t used to the strain of such a standoff.  
Her brain was working overtime, however, constantly firing to give her an edge in this verbal and physical duel.

“One,” Rey told Kylo, “you have not disarmed me twice; only once. Two, the fact that you did is a moot point, seeing as now I am both armed once more and aiming the barrel at your head.

“Now,” Rey said, taking an air of authority that she neither felt nor really deserved, “as recompense for your screwing up both of our jobs, you will holster your weapon and leave peacefully, while I go after Schneider. It that understood, Ren?”

Kylo’s brow furrowed, but he was obviously considering her demands. Then, his face cleared and he shook his head.  
“No,” he chuckled, “you’re just bluffing, because you’re getting tired. I can tell. Look,” he gestured with the barrel of his Glock, “your arms are quivering.”

Rey didn’t remove her gaze from Kylo, but was able to tell what he meant. Hell, she felt it. Her strength was beginning to fail.

But she wasn’t bluffing, not entirely.  
She moved the barrel three inches to the left and down half an inch.

Then fired.

She had to give Kylo credit, he didn’t flinch. His grip didn’t waver, and his gun didn’t shift.

The bullet passed insanely close to him and nicked his ear. A drop of blood ran down his earlobe and dripped to his shoulder.

Kylo blinked.

“Next time will be three inches to the right,” Rey warned, “do you still believe I’m bluffing?”

The relief Rey felt from finally firing her gun was amplified by his response.

“No, I don’t.” Kylo lowered his gun. He flicked the safety on and holstered it with the ease of practice.  
He lifted a finger to his ear, and touched the spot where Rey’s bullet had nicked him.  
He brought his finger back, and stared at the drop of the blood glistening on it, the picture as loud as the gunshot had been.

“That was an incredible shot,” he murmured, as if only to himself.

Rey smirked. “Thanks.” 

She lowered her own weapon, and holstered it without looking away from him.

“I guess I’m going to go now?” Kylo asked, looking at her with a genuine smile that transformed his face. Rey was struck by how handsome he was, even in the darkness. His brown eyes held a depth that wasn’t seen in many people in his line of work, and Rey had to stop herself from staring. She looked at the ground quickly, and tucked her hands behind her back.

“Yes, that would be best,” she said, still professional.

Kylo nodded sagely, and turned to go.  
“I never got your name?” he said, a question fairly obvious.

“Agent Niima,” Rey offered. She would never give up her first name so easily.  
Kylo smiled again. He stretched out a hand, surprising Rey.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, appreciating the firm, militant grip. His hands were large, fully engulfing hers. They weren’t scarred or heavily calloused like hers were. Rey couldn’t help but be self-conscious about her hand, and as soon as the appropriate time for a handshake had elapsed, Rey retracted her hand. His was perfect, hers bore the full extent of her hard life.

“Until we meet again, Agent Niima,” Kylo said, matching her professionalism.

Rey watched as he turned and strode away, as if their meeting had no more effect than a passing annoyance.

She wasn’t so luckily impervious.

Rey wouldn’t be forgetting this moment for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben’s meeting—from Ben’s perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially the previous chapter, from the POV of Ben/Kylo.

**Ben**

There was something about routine. 

Something so elegant, so perfect.

This mission was the very picture of routine, and Ren figured beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would go perfectly—without a hitch.

He didn’t always have the privilege of such easy missions before—while the FBI had structure and schedule, there was always things that could go wrong. Ren guessed part of it was his partners, part of it was his handlers, but ultimately, the majority of the fault was that such missions were too complex.   
Too little simplicity and too little time.

Not like tonight. It was an in-and-out. 

Pure and simple.

A child could do it.

If, of course, a child knew how to properly handle and shoot a Glock 17.

It was Ren’s favorite of his arsenal; with the way it fit his hands, you’d think it was made just for him.  
Ren realized he’d tightened his grip slightly and relaxed a little, knowing that a tightly gripped gun would be more difficult to aim. He shifted position slightly, so slightly that any observer couldn’t tell.

Ren’s mark, a rat by the name of Schneider, was waiting about four meters from him. The rising politician had been making a stir, especially in the underground of Berlin. Ren had heard of him once or twice through a chain of others, but when he got the telegram from his handler two days previously, it was clear Schneider had been noticed by larger players than himself.

Snoke had given the order, and Ren was doing his job.

Ren prepared to strike, creeping forward in space by half a step, making hardly a whisper of sound.

Then he pounced.

Ren covered the four meters as if it were a third of that, getting into position before three seconds had elapsed.

He was just bringing his weapon to bear on a startled Schneider when a fierce little thing came out of nowhere, taking him down easily.

It was more a factor of surprise than his assailant’s own strength, but whomever it was had felled him, nonetheless. They both sprawled on the ground, and Ren was determined to recover first.

Did Schneider have a security detail?  
If so, it was rather unfortunate.

All it meant was that two people would die that night, not just one.

The bodyguard had his arms around Ren’s waist, and he attempted to wrench himself free. He threw the accoster off of him and flipped him onto his back.

Even in the partial darkness, lit only by a ghost of moonlight, Ren could tell it wasn’t a male bodyguard after all—it was a woman, a small one at that, clothed in the same sort of light, dark-colored garb as he was.

Ren didn’t dwell on it—an attacker was an attacker. He’d have second thoughts later. He brought his gun up and aimed it at her.

She was unarmed, he saw, but in Ren’s periphery he could just make out the glint of gunmetal reflected moonlight meters away from them.

Ren fully expected the woman to cower before the weapon aimed at her, to beg for mercy, but instead she caught him off guard—again. She moved in a sharp bolt of energy, so fast he hardly saw her move, hooking her ankle over his wrist and moving the muzzle of his Glock off her person. She then flipped back agilely onto her feet and grabbed his arm, pinning it behind his back.

Ren had to admit, he was impressed. Not even his associates at the FBI had been able to get one over him like that.

The woman’s hands were small but her grip was firm, and Ren found himself liking the sensation. He wondered what the woman looked like in full light. Her build was slim and wiry, and he fancied the thought that her other features were as attractive and delicate.

This ridiculous notion was interrupted by the woman’s harsh words.  
“Who are you,” she hissed, in an accent he placed immediately, “and why are you targeting my mark?”

Ah, a Brit. Ren didn’t really care for their decorum, or lack thereof.

Not to mention she was claiming Schneider was her mark.  
What the hell? Who else had been monitoring him?

Ren decided to test her.  
“Oh, so it’s _your_ mark now, is it?” he replied.

To his surprise and annoyance, Ren saw a flash of white as the woman rolled her eyes.  
“Yes, _my_ mark,” she informed him. 

She released Ren’s arm and stepped back, snatching his Glock from the ground.   
Ren could hardly hold in a smirk as she lifted the gun’s barrel to his head. Her form was fine, just lacked the years of experience he had. She undoubtedly knew how to use it, that was clear, but she lacked the transparent ease and comfort of having a familiar weapon in one’s grip. 

The Glock obviously wasn’t made for her.

“Now,” the woman declared, “you are going to give me answers. Who are you and who assigned you to my mark?”

Ren sighed, slightly annoyed by her assertiveness, but decided it best to talk.  
“I’m Ren—Kylo Ren. My handler assigned this job to me, and for the record—Schneider doesn’t belong to you. He’s fair game and also currently getting away.”

Ren had noticed Schneider shake himself of his vegetative state and start to flee, but if the woman hadn’t noticed , that was on her.

As of yet, he didn’t know what to expect from her, but it amused him immensely when she fell for it and took her eyes off him.

While the woman was busy ogling their mark escaping, Ren was able to move toward her a step. He easily disarmed her, hitting her wrist just so with the side of his hand and catching the gun with his other hand.

Game, set, match.

Or so he thought.

The woman dove to the ground, rolling to where her gun was. She was up on one knee with her own weapon aimed at him before he could blink. 

Unlike before, her grip on her own gun exuded ease and comfort. She evidently did have experience, with her 9 mm, and it showed.

 _Damn_ , she was good.

He thought she should know.  
“Nicely done,” he said, leaving the admiration in his tone.

The woman visually shrugged off his compliment and fixed him with a steely glare.

The moon had changed positions, and a beam of light was shining on her face.

She was breathtaking, Ren saw.

The light illuminated her hazel-green eyes, so deep and beautiful one could drown in them. Her hair was pulled back in an irregular but rather utilitarian three-bun style, and strands of dark brown hair trailed along the sides of her symmetrical face. Ren couldn’t help it; his eyes dropped to her lips, soft and pink. Not at all what he’d expect from the rough, accented voice that had come from them.

The woman’s face contorted in anger.  
“I suggest you take your Glock and get the fuck out of Viktoriapark before I shoot your meddling American ass,” she spat.

Yes, there it was—that fowl tongue.  
Ren smirked, adopting a undercurrent of sarcasm that was sure to piss her off.  
“You Brits, always with that mouth,” he chuckled.

The woman just sneered back at him.  
Neither of them spoke for a moment or two, then Ren decided to be the bigger person and try to calm the waters a little.  
“Look,” he explained, “I wasn’t aware that someone other than the U.S. government had eyes on Schneider. I was just doing a job.”

“So was I. And you completely screwed it up,” the woman retorted hotly.

Ren shrugged noncommittedly.  
“I could say the same for you,” he told her. Then he thought of a compromise. “How ‘bout this: you put down your gun, I go after Schneider, I kill Schneider, and you never have to see me again?” he offered.

“You can’t be serious,” the woman snorted, “as if you could ever manage it.”

The slight irked Ren, and he frowned.  
“Are you insulting me? You, who was so easily distracted by the oldest trick in the book?” he goaded in return, “you’re lucky you didn’t make such a rookie mistake earlier, or I would have shot you for sure,” Ren gave a her a small, condescending smile.

The woman shifted her grip on her gun, obviously re-centering in on his head.

Charming.

“Says the man who I disarmed in less than a second. Child’s play,” She replied, her voice dripping with chilly professionalism.

“Is it? You seem to forget that I have disarmed you _twice_ now,” Ren reminded her. He was started to feel a little prick of the stress in his arms, holding his gun outstretched for so long.

He knew it was worse for her.  
She didn’t seem to realize it, though.

“One,” the woman told Ren, “you have not disarmed me twice; only once. Two, the fact that you did is a moot point, seeing as now I am both armed once more and aiming the barrel at your head.

“Now,” she said haughtily, adding an unmistakable edge of authority, “as recompense for your screwing up _both_ of our jobs, you will holster your weapon and leave peacefully, while I go after Schneider. It that understood, Ren?”

She had to be joking. Or bluffing.  
His brow furrowed, considering the chances of her actually shooting him if he declined her terms.

Then, he made up his mind.

He shook his head, adopting a patronizing smile.  
“No,” Ren chuckled, “you’re just bluffing, because you’re getting tired. I can tell. Look,” he pointed out, gesturing his gun, “your arms are quivering.”

She wasn’t going to last much longer, and she knew it.

But then she proved him wrong yet again.

She _fired_.

Ren felt it whiz millimeters from his skull, only to nick the top of his annoyingly large ear. It was a small sting, but he felt it much deeper.

He’d been wrong.

To further mock him, a drop of blood slowly trickled down, and Ren blinked at the woman, stunned.

“Next time will be three inches to the right,” the woman warned, “do you still believe I’m bluffing?”

He swallowed.

No way in hell.

He couldn’t underestimate her again.  
“No, I don’t,” he admitted, and lowered his gun. He flicked the safety on and holstered it at his belt.

Then, he reached up with a finger to wipe at the blood from his ear.  
He stared at his finger, the blood black in the darkness, mocking him for his oversight.

“That was an incredible shot,” he murmured, not really intending to say it aloud.

The woman smirked and accepted the compliment, nonetheless.  
“Thanks.” She lowered her own weapon, and holstered it without taking her eyes off him.  
She’d apparently learned her lesson.

Ren was tired. He was done with this situation.  
“I guess I’m going to go now?” he said, flashing her a tired smile with the hope that she’d be sympathetic and not deliberate any further.

To his surprise, the woman looked a little bashful, looking down at her feet and clasping her hands behind her back. The lines of stress and irritation melted from her face, and she looked positively angelic.

Ren didn’t know why she affected him the way she did; the attention of a woman was trivial to him and had never gotten in to way of his job. Of course, until now.

“Yes, that would be best,” she said, the professionalism in her tone inexplicably disappointing him.

Ren nodded, and turned to go.  
The he remembered something.  
“I never got your name?” he said hopefully.

The woman paused.  
“Agent Niima,” she offered.  
Ren smiled at her again. He stretched out his hand, which clearly surprised her.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, and Ren was pleasantly startled by both how small her hand was in his and how comparatively firm her grip was. He hand was rough with callouses, which Ren respected, and a few old scars marred the otherwise fine and decidedly female hand.

He could have retained his grip longer, but she pulled her hand away before any awkwardness was reached.

“Until we meet again, Agent Niima,” Ren said, matching her professionalism.

He turned and walked away, silently hoping she was watching him go.

In all likelihood, he was no more than a miniscule ripple in her life; a small annoyance that was soon forgotten.

As for him, Ren wasn’t so fortunately unaffected.

He wouldn’t be forgetting this encounter any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I never realised how much people would like this! It’s really cool. So, I normally post daily, but then this whole thing happened when my little brother went missing for more than 24 hours, but then he turned up and I wasn’t able to write and things have been so busy, so I think I’m gonna have to post MAYBE twice a week. I’m thinking Saturdays and Wednesdays. This may change later.  
> Anyway, your kudos and comments are always appreciated, and it makes this story easier to write when I know there are people who will read it.  
> Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is left to ponder his encounter with Agent Niima. He also gets a surprise message from Snoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I said last time that I’d only post on Saturdays and Wednesdays, but… it’s Star Wars Day (Happy May the 4th, everyone!) so I couldn’t _not_ post! I also couldn’t sleep last night so it all worked out.

**Ben** (Again—Sorry, plot demands it)  
  
  
It wasn’t until he had cleared the expanse of Viktoriapark completely that Ren finally relaxed. While he didn’t entirely expect Niima to follow him, he’d underestimated her just minutes earlier and it had cost him a mark.  
Still, Ren did a quick scan.

He stilted his stride, checking to see if anyone behind was matching his footsteps so they wouldn’t be heard.

Clear.

He flicked his eyes across his full field of vision, not focusing on one section in particular but taking it all in. This was the best way to see motion, as it would stand out more in the quiet and calm of Berlin in the dead of night.  
Once the initial optical scan yielded nothing suspicious, Ren took another glance, this time in incremates of a few meters, turning his head—but not his body, and continuing to walk normally—slightly to take in the brush and trees flanking his sides. This scan was not for movement necessarily, but for light or reflections. Even such a thing as a pale face or the whites of eyes reflected moonlight quite sharply at the right angle.

Nothing.

Ren heaved a sigh and relaxed completely, slowing his stride to a leisurely pace and even slouching a little. This was a doubly-useful action; to any observer he’d appear completely at ease and unalert, making the observer cocky and prone to not being as cautious in their movements. Two, it was rather comfortable. Ren wasn’t in the military, he could afford to not be rigid and constricted.

He would continue to be on alert but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the remainder of his evening. After all, it was a lovely night. July in Germany wasn’t too warm, and wasn’t cold, it was a balance that reminded Ren of home.

That wasn’t a good thing.

Ren clenched his jaw and blocked it out.

Who kept telling him, “ _let the past die_?”

Right.

Snoke, his instructor-turned handler.

It was mantra that followed him, echoing in his head on sleepless nights, all throughout his time at the Farm and up until his recruitment into the assassin corps.

Ren shivered. His handler was a strange man, and even though he had been a voice in his head for years, Ren didn’t really know him. Snoke was demanding, unapologetic, and unsympathetic to everything and everyone.  
If the weather was bad and Ren was having difficulty on a mission because of it, Snoke would tell him to, “Man the fuck up, put on a damn coat, and shoot your fucking target”.  
Maybe this tough-love approach had made him a better assassin. It certainly hadn’t made him a worse one.

That is, until Agent Niima stepped in.

Ren cursed as his mind played him images of her pristine features, twisted in mockery of him and yet all the more beautiful for it.

It was quite irritating.

He had lost to a _woman_ , and not only his mark had been claimed.

His attention had been, too.

Ren was fuming over this, over his weakness and failure, when he finally arrived at his shoddy Berlin hotel. By general standards, it was actually quite nice, especially for that area during wartime. It was clean and spacious, but it lacked the luxury Ren had grown up with.  
Five-star hotels he took for granted as child, as his mother was the head of several different intelligence organizations and his father was a general in the U.S. Air Force, a national hero by anyone’s standards.

Except for his son’s.

 _Let the past die_.

Ren cursed again. He was _still_ holding on.

He was lucky it hadn’t distracted him when he was actually in the field; Snoke had warned him of such dangers unhealthy recollections caused.

Ren hung his coat on the hook by the door, and saw he had a pile of mail on the small table in the entranceway.  
He sorted through it as he slumped onto the narrow bed. It was mostly junk, some forwarded crap from home, some fliers.

He did get one personal letter, from his old partner Hux in the FBI. He was the only one who Ren told about his secret recruitment to the assassin corps. Everyone else previously in his life believed him to be dead.

Snoke said this was best, to ensure the secrecy of the hidden league. Ren death was faked and his commitment to the FBI was replaced with his commitment to his duty, and ultimately Snoke, who was his only contact in the assassin league.  
He had been allowed to tell one person, though. He was informed that many chose to tell a family member, a parent usually.

Ren had no wish to do this, he may as well have been dead to his parents before he even joined.  
Instead, he chose to tell the only actual friend he had at the time, Stephen Hux.

Hux had been his partner on several missions, and they had grown close.  
Even now, Hux still sent letters, and Ren tried to return them, although he knew Snoke would have them proofread and heavily censured.  
Ren opened Hux’s letter.  
  
_Ren, (That IS your name now, isn’t it?),  
I hope this letter doesn’t find you dead or anything; I know things are crazy in Germany right now and that’s where Snoke said you were. I kinda envy you, you know? Getting shit done in Europe while I’m here cooling my ass in good ol’ America.  
The thing is, I’m writing to tell you of a personal thing. I know you hate that kind of shit so I’ll keep it brief.  
I’m getting married.  
In one month.  
I know we had the whole bachelor-pact thing, and I know distractions take away from the job and all that. Truth is, I’ve been suspended from duty and the time off has given me time to think._

Shit, Ren thought, Hux was suspended? For what? And getting married?  
He kept reading.  
  
_Point is, she’s wonderful, Ren, I think you’d like her.  
‘Course if you did I’d have to pound your ass into the ground—she’s mine, you hear?  
Anyway, I know there’s no way you can make it, but I really hope you would. This is a sort of unofficial invite, so if you find yourself on American soil any time soon, we’d love to have you.  
  
Hux_

Ren sat back on the bed, breathing slowly and mechanically to center his thoughts.

“ _Let the past die_.” 

Right?

Or did it not apply to what is really only the recent past?

Ren groaned with frustration and tossed the letter on the desk.  
He was too tired to deal with the thoughts spirals; he’d deal with Snoke’s voice in his head in the morning.

As he was preparing for bed, a rapid knocking on his door sounded.

“Telegram, sir!”

Ren’s stomach dropped.  
It could only be from Snoke.

Probably demanding an update or—even worse, assigning him another mark.

Ren went to the door.

A boy of about sixteen was behind it, far too chipper and pristinely dressed for two in the morning.

“Telegram, sir,” the boy repeated, holding out the paper.

Ren took it.

He read it.

The boy waited, blinking.  
“Sir?” he said, a little less respectfully.

Ren frowned. He dug in his pocket for some change, and handed it to the boy.

The boy left, finally.

Ren shut the door and looked at the telegram again, this time more carefully.  
  
_New assignment for you stop Herr Vikram Schulze stop Starting an uproar with the lower classes stop Take him out before July the sixteenth stop Use any means necessary stop Snoke stop_  
  
July the sixteenth? That was five days from now.

What was on the sixteenth? Ren didn’t know.

All he knew was that he was exhausted, and he had to find and kill a man he’d never met without the man’s supporters knowing, in less than five days.

Ren collapsed into bed with his shoes on.  
Another thing to think about in the morning.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early-ish into the chapter I mentioned a place called ‘The Farm’. It’s not actually a literal farm. The Farm’ is real place, the nickname they give to the sort of boot-camp for Americans going into espionage, whether it be in the FBI, CIA, or somewhere else. It trains them in many, many different skills, not only self-defense and weapon handling. It teaches basic disguise techniques, bomb setting and defusing, tactical strategy, evasive maneuvers on foot, cars, or other vehicles, and many other skills. I didn’t really do research for that, it’s just stuff I retained from a cool book I read by Chuck Black, a former military officer.  
> Also, I’d really prefer Ben to formally be in the CIA (and have the CIA be the one with the secretive assassin core, but the CIA wasn’t founded until 1947 (about two years after this story begins) and the FBI was founded in 1908, so I was stuck with it. I’m just more of a fan of the FBI (the main character in Chuck Black’s book was in the FBI) and don’t altogether like the idea of an assassin sub-league in it, so yeah. Super long note is over.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Happy Star Wars Day, and happy trails until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey gets a letter, then begins to track down a mark.

**Rey**  
  
Rey didn’t sleep well that night.  
Who could blame her?  
She’d lost a mark—mere _seconds_ from taking him out—and she’d almost been shown up by an arrogant American.

A _hot_ arrogant American.

That didn’t really matter; Rey had still lost a mark thanks to Kylo Ren and she was determined to make up for it.

She rose just after dawn, despite being out so late, and busied herself by tidying her hotel room. She didn’t like having the hotel’s staff cleaning, due to her occupation and the fact that Rey had given orders not to be disturbed ensured that she was left alone.  
Making a bed wasn’t _that_ hard, especially compared to some of the men Rey had killed in the past.  
A major in the German army. A weapons dealer.

Even another hit man, who had gotten on her bad side early on in her career.

That brought Ren to mind. Rey thought about it, and considered her chances. If he got in her way again, could she take him out, too?

Would she?

Rey pushed the question from her mind and hung up a fresh towel in the bathroom. The housekeeping department had left fresh linens outside her door, and for that she was grateful. Rey had already been in that particular hotel room for a week now, and it was always nice to sleep in clean sheets.

Not that she had been able to sleep properly.

Rey had finished tidying the small room when she noticed a single letter on the small table by the door. She didn’t know when it had been delivered; she would have noticed if someone came in during the night.

The letter didn’t have a return address on it, but Rey recognized the handwriting immediately.

Leia Organa.

Her handler, mentor, and friend, currently assisting the Soviets in Moscow, heading one of their American-Soviet government organizations. She was doing quite well when Rey saw her last, some weeks ago. The organization was more of a front, hiding a strong center of Soviet espionage. The Soviets weren’t too happy about an American leading such an agency, but Leia Organa produced results, and was popular with the Soviet public. She was a well-loved figure in Moscow, and no one complained when certain…threats in Germany were quelled almost before they were noticed.

That was where Rey came in. She had Leia to thank for her job, and Leia to look to for guidance whenever she was struggling. Leia had pulled her out of more than one hole, physically and mentally, and Rey owed it to Leia to tell her everything that went on during her missions.

But Rey just couldn’t bring herself to write to Leia, and confess that she lost her mark. Not to mention she was nearly compromised, getting into that unfortunate scuffle with an American assassin.

Rey frowned and opened the letter.  
  
_Rey,  
I just want to let you know how proud I am of you. Going to a new country, new territory, putting yourself in harm’s way—all for your country and its allies. I couldn’t be happier that I was able to assign you to this mission.  
Now, I’m not expecting a missions update, I know things can go sideways in the field and sometimes things aren’t as we planned_.  
  
Rey gulped. How? Had someone seen her, and told Leia?  
She read on, relief slowly coursing through her body.  
  
_Regardless of where you are, I am sure you are succeeding. Already, reports of the unrest are diminishing her in Moscow and we have you to thank.  
On a less exciting note, I am afraid I have another target for you_.

Rey nearly groaned aloud with frustration. Another one?  
  
_While you may not have heard anything on your end, our friends in the American, French, and Soviet armies there have reported several covert ‘gatherings’ if you will of Nazi-loyalists, and they suspect that nothing good will come of it. They reportedly always meet in the home of the wealthy Herr Weinmer, a banker and a former friend of Hitler’s father. We assume the worst. I need to eliminate Herr Weinmer as soon as you can, Herr Schneider still taking priority, of course. I hate to rush you, but ideally both must be gone by July the 17th, if possible. If not, we will have to work around that. I thank you in advance for your excellent service to Great Britain and its allies. Your countrymen would be proud, and jealous that the Soviets snagged you first.  
  
Rose has asked me to send you her regards; I had forgotten you two had gotten close before you left for Germany. She’s doing well here, I have made her my personal assistant and she is thriving in the role. Your recommendation was quite accurate_.  
  
Rey smiled at this. Rose Ticonova, a young Soviet woman who had welcomed Rey to Moscow the first time Rey met Leia. The two had hit it off, Rose teaching Rey some conversational Russian, and Rey returned the favor by putting in a good word with Leia for her. She was really Rey’s only friend.  
  
_I look forward to your weekly report.  
Much love,  
  
Leia Organa-Solo  
Head; Allied-Soviet Agency for Foreign Affairs_

Rey smiled. The ‘Allied-Soviet Agency for Foreign Affairs’ was such a florid name, and so Leia. Still, Rey would have accepted a job from anywhere if it had gotten her out of Great Britain.

_Anywhere_. 

Rey shuddered at the thought of what she had left behind.  
Her handler at the Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6. His hands, or rather, his fists on her when she failed certain exercises _again_.

When she couldn’t do as much, lift as much as the men could.  
Unkar Lawrence was one of Britain’s worst, and while his abuse only served to make Rey stronger, to push herself harder, she was still relieved to leave MI6, at least for a time.

Other agents had complained about the horrors of being on retainer to another country, but Rey had quite enjoyed it.

Not to mention, with her newfound skill at her job, when she went back she might be able to get a little retribution.

~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t until dusk that Rey thought it safe to venture out into Berlin. She had decided to let Schneider off the hook today and seek out this Herr Weinmer.. With any luck, he’d be holding one of these secret meetings tonight.

If not, Rey would just keep an eye on this banker fellow.

She slipped out of the hotel like a ghost, her feet gliding soundlessly over the cracked pavement. It had seen more battles than she had, Rey thought. Berlin may have been starting to heal, but it still had plenty of scars.

Rey slipped through alleys, across boulevards, and around buildings of varying height, width, and repair. Even in the fading light, it was easy to see the marks Hitler’s regime had left. 

She made her way to Herr Weinmer’s bank. Rey had nonchalantly asked a few employees at the hotel where Weinmer’s back was located, and it seemed that everyone knew of the affluent man. More importantly, they knew to find him. Rey made up some story about her wealthy grandfather leaving her a safety deposit box and how he’d been a member of the bank for more than fifty years.  
Upon hearing this, one housekeeper even gave her Weinmer’s personal home address, should Rey not be able to find him at the bank.

Seeing as it was early enough for Weinmer to still be at the bank, Rey deigned to try there first. Getting there unnoticed, however, was turning into a bit of a chore. Rey found herself dodging into alleys and ducking around buildings to remain unseen by the various patrols of American, French, and Soviet soldiers. Even though she _technically_ was on their side, assassins were mutually frowned upon, to say the least.  
She wasn’t going to take any chances.

A company of French soldiers was coming her way. She quickly slipped behind a large rubbish bin to avoid them, grateful not for the first time of her small frame.

When their marching footsteps faded, and it sounded like the way was clear again, Rey stepped gingerly out hiding.

And was promptly seized by another soldier.

Of course. 

_That was Stupid_ , Rey thought. _Of course they’d have a scout on their back end to make sure no one slipped the main patrolmen’s focus_.

“What are you doing out? It’s after curfew!” The voice was French, speaking poor, heavily-accented German.

Rey replied in French, quickly, so he wouldn’t notice the gun at her hip.  
“ _Je fais partie d'une agence de renseignement britannique. Je suis sur…les affaires_.” (I am part of a British intelligence agency. I am out on…business.) Rey smiled genially at the soldier, hoping he wouldn’t press her.

He didn’t just smiled with relief at the fact that she had spoken in his own language.  
“ _D’accord, mademoiselle_.” (Okay, miss.) 

He released her, giving a small smile of his own, “ _Faites juste attention, vous ne savez jamais de quoi il s'agit la nuit_.” (Just be careful, you never know what types are about at night.)

Rey nodded, and stuck out her hand. “I’m Rey Niima,” she said in English. 

The soldier understood; she’d said she was English, after all.

“Private Finne Troupere,” The man introduced himself. 

He shook her hand, and the two of them exchanged very formal nods before Finne turned to continue on his way. “Nice to meet you. Take care.”

Rey smiled sheepishly. “I’m actually going that way,” she said.

Finne gestured for her to step past him. “Then by all means, after you,” he said graciously.

“Your English is quite good,” Rey told him, impressed, as she started walking side-by-side with him.

“Thank you, my parents insisted on it when I was a child.” He informed her.

They walked down the street in companionable silence until Rey saw the bank.

She gave Finne the same excuse as she did the housekeeper—wealthy grandfather, left her money—and Finne wished her well.

Rey watched him continue on with a modicum of guilt. He was the first friendly face she’d encountered in Berlin, and theirs was the first real conversation between equals. The hotel employees had been respectful, but they had spoken without meeting her gaze, and never once spoke except to answer a direct question.

Then Rey shook off the unnecessary remorse. It was all part of the job. You do what you need to do and you move on.

Connecting with people, except for when absolutely necessary, only lead to heartbreak.

Rey took a deep breath and went into the bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this was only meant to be one chapter, but now it’s a two-parter. Sorry.  
> Just to be clear, the “Allied-Soviet Agency for Foreign Affairs’ was NOT a real agency. Sounds cool, though, right? However, the Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6, is a real agency in the UK and was founded, I believe, in 1909, so it fits. It’s also the only British intelligence service I know of, so that’s where Rey belonged to!  
> Also, during the Cold War, there was a thing the Americans did from 1941-1945 called the lend-lease program. The U.S. supplied the UK, France, and the Soviets (and a few more, but those are mostly all that I mention in the fic) with food, oil, and other necessities, so it isn’t much of a stretch that they could have also lent people, like agents and stuff. This is where lots of my reasoning with the whole retainer-thing comes from, for both Ben and Rey. I mean, if the U.S. did this program, chances are there was some reciprocating! Additionally, there was the ‘Reverse Lend-Lease’ thing in which America’s allies provided stuff for the U.S., so it makes sense.  
> Anyway, super long explanation I’m SO sorry but I’m obsessed with making this as historically accurate and/or plausible as I can.  
> I really hope these dynamics aren’t too confusing. If they are, please let me know and I can explain them or change them or whatever.  
> Oh, one more thing. I’m not fluent in French or anything, but I do know some, so all the French in this chapter is real, understandable French. If what I’ve been doing with that is annoying, please let me know, and all of it will be in English.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey continues her mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post, I’ve been crazy busy. Moving bedrooms around in my house, figuring out where people are going to stay, and tons of stress from that.  
> Anyway, one day late, here’s chapter five. Again, this was SUPPOSED to be just one chapter, now it’s gonna be three. Oh well.  
> Enjoy!

The bank was quiet, and the few employees left were closing up for the night.

A friendly-looking woman, about Rey’s age walked up to her.  
“I’m sorry, miss,” she said in German, “we’re closing now. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Rey smiled apologetically at her, wrapping her coat tightly around her to conceal her 9 mm.

“Yes, I know,” Rey answered, the same language, “but I’m here on great import and I won’t be in berlin for long. May I speak to Herr Weinmer?”

The woman changed her attitude immediately at the mention of her employer.

“You know Herr Weinmer? Of course, follow me,” she said graciously.

Rey smiled to herself at the ease of it all. Was it that simple?

The bank attendant led her to the back, where she gestured toward a large office.

“He’s in there, just knock,” she told Rey. The woman smiled at Rey and left.

Rey’s pulse sped up slightly, in anticipation of her next actions.

“Oh, are you looking for the boss?” A passing teller asked.

Rey nodded.

“Oh, I’m afraid he just left, not ten minutes ago. He usually leaves around this time. You can come back tomorrow, though,” the teller suggested helpfully, and continued on his way.

Rey cursed under her breath.

It _wasn’t_ that easy, after all.   
Plan B, then.

Rey slipped out of a side door, escaping the notice of the few harried employees who were in the middle of leaving. The sky had grown darker, and the alley was downright gloomy.  
It brought back memories of the cold London streets, where Rey had spent far more time than she would have wished. The only good thing that came from those cark times was that she never took for granted a proper roof over her head again.

Rey shook her head, clearing her mind of everything not related to the task in front of her.

It took over twenty minutes, but following the minute directions from the hotel housekeeper and the knowledge from her own rudimentary scouting when she first arrived in Berlin, Rey found herself in a far more affluent neighborhood than she had ever seen.

The houses were large, ornate, and sat on manicured lawns that probably cost more to maintain than Rey had ever earned in her life. Even in wartime, some people were so much better off, and it disgusted Rey.  
The address the housekeeper gave her belonged to one of the larger mansions, this one with even a small fountain in the front.

Rey kept walked past it, then slipped around the side to check all the sides for lights in the windows.

Some still had blackout curtains hanging in the windows, but one window had them drawn aside, and a cool glow of lamplight spilled out onto the dark street. Rey stepped against the wall beside the window, thinking.  
She could stay and wait to see if someone came to douse the light or close the drapes, or she could find another window and enter the building.

Which would be the most beneficial to the mission, with fewer chance of consequence?

Rey hated standing still, so she ghosted forward, passing the window quickly so as not to be spotted by anyone who happened to be looking outside.

Once she was at the back of the house, hidden by brush and invisible from observers on the street or in the house, Rey scanned the tall brick walls of the manor.

They were old enough to have gouges and clefts, and Rey was confident she could climb if she had to. She didn’t, however, want to risk any movement on the upper levels. At least one of her in-house jobs had resulted in discover by squeaky stairs. Rey winced at the memory.

Then, she spotted an in.

Off to her left, only about three feet above, was a small window. No light shone from behind it, but Rey could tell it was open. Just a crack, but enough.

Rey picked her way carefully over to it, making sure not to step on anything that might make a sound and give her away.  
While not level with her, the window wouldn’t be _too_ hard to get into.

Before attempting to climb, however, Rey listened right outside it for any sounds of movement or talking. She didn’t want anyone on the other side of the window see her, or rather, her fingers splayed over the sill before she lifted herself up. 

Nothing. 

It seemed whoever had opened the window had left the room.  
Or was sleeping in it. 

Rey considered this possibility. 

A risk? 

No, she decided. She’d dealt with such things before. 

Rey stretched up her arms as high as she could, wrapping her hands over the sill and getting a firm grip of the wood. 

She hopped a little, testing the sill’s integrity, and determining it was safe to climb. 

Rey leaped, pulling hard. 

All those chin-ups and sit-ups she did during training paid off, because with a little effort and a little help from her feet, scrambling on the brick, Rey tugged herself up until her chest was over the sill. 

From there, she held herself up and peered into the room anxiously. 

All clear. 

The room was dark, a study by the looks of it, with a large desk in one corner with several chairs about the room. 

Rey hooked her right leg over and then her left, and with a steady, careful step down she was in the house. 

Time to see what Herr Weinmer was up to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, I know. It’s super late and I need sleep. Another (longer!) chapter on Wednesday, hopefully.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey finally manages to uncover something in her mission. No, sorry, it’s not Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry guys, for the SUPER late post. Turns out my bedroom was infested with mold and stuff, so I had to put all of my stuff in storage and move into my parent’s trailer so the room could be cleaned. That took a lot of time and was SUPER stressful. So yeah, hopefully I’ll get back to posting regularly, maybe only once a week though this time.  
> Also, I was given a beautiful video-moodboard by @invisibleallice on Twitter; as soon as I figure out how to do so I’ll put it on here!  
> Anyway, enjoy chapter six!

**Rey**  
  
The house was quiet.

Somewhat unusual, for it wasn’t very late yet and such a house would be bustling with the activities of the servants, cleaning and cooking and laundry, not to mention turning down all of the beds for the night.

The room Rey was in was a bedroom, and although it appeared unused there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Rey ran her finger along the bedstead, and her finger came away clean.

 _Maybe a guest room_ , Rey noted. She filed every observation about the room in her head, as one never knew when a seemingly insignificant piece of information came in handy.  
  
Leaving the bedroom, Rey found herself in the middle of a long hallway, dimly lit with small, regularly interspaces kerosene lamps.

Not knowing which way to go, Rey pictured the outside of the manor in her mind. Based off of the position of window she’d entered through, she must be in the east side of the manor, not exactly on the ground floor yet not on the second either. There must be a short staircase to descend to get to the ground floor, where the kitchen and dining room would be.  
Rey went west down the hallway, pausing outside each opened door, listening. To avoid creaky floorboards, Rey lightly tested each new step with her right foot while keeping her left firmly planted. If the board felt like it may give, even a little, Rey shifted her foot to either side or to just after the possibly creaky board.  
It was rather slow going, but it paid off as Rey was able to move silently down the hall, alerting no one to her presence should anyone be in the rooms she passed.

No one was.

Where _were_ Herr Weinmer and his family—if he had one?  
Eating supper in a room below, perhaps?  
Or even already retired, in the floor above?

Rey never knew why people needed so many bedrooms if they didn’t run a hotel or boarding house. It was blatantly wasteful, especially when Rey had grown up sharing a room with eleven other girls at the orphanage.

At the end of the hallway, there was a stairwell, which Rey examined before going down. It looked sturdy enough to not make too much noise, perhaps.  
She listened hard to see if anyone was at the bottom, then deemed it safe enough to descend.

Rey did so as carefully as she had with the hallway, only this time if she thought a stair would creak she slowly lowered herself to the next stair down, testing it gently before putting her weight on it.  
Soon, she had reached the bottom. She didn’t really know where she was anymore, and had no idea what lay ahead.

It was never a good idea to enter a mark’s home blind, without at least looking at a floor plan. Not to mention Rey had no idea where Weinmer was, or why.

Prowling about a stranger’s home, especially one of this size, and _especially_ in her profession, was extremely dangerous.

Not for her, no.

Never for her, and Rey reassured herself of this with a gentle squeeze of her Beretta, still at her side like a loyal friend.

No, it was dangerous for others. Rey’s actions thus far could lead to loose ends. Witnesses. It wasn’t their fault, but Rey couldn’t possibly let anyone live who saw her take out a mark.

It was just a part of the business.

Rey peered around the nearest corner, as the bottom on the stairwell was tucked away, out of sight. Just beyond her, Rey saw a large sitting room, with a fire lit in a wide fireplace.

The room was empty.

 _Why light a fire and then just leave?_ Rey thought.

With less care but still alert, Rey strode to the other side of the room, turning her head this way and that and listening hard.

Nothing.

And no one.

This was beginning to be Rey’s strangest mission.

Something had to be going on.

Could she have gotten lucky enough to catch Weinmer in the act? In the middle of his supposed rebellious plans?

At the other side of the room, there were a few doors, and Rey carefully checked each one.  
Two led to more hallways.

The last opened onto a dark staircase, leading…down.

It lead to more than just “down”, though.  
It lead to darkness, no light visible from below.

Rey took a deep breath, unholstered her Beretta, and went down onto the first step. The gun in her hand helped, the cold steel both encouraging her and strengthening her focus.  
Gingerly, Rey stepped down again.

And again.

Rey could tell by now that the staircase was spiraling down to the left, and she noted this carefully. Going back up she’d be going to the right, and anyone coming down probably wouldn’t see her until she was right in front of them.

But she’d be able to wait in the shadows, out of sight, her gun held ready.

After several more steps, Rey could finally see some semblance of light.

A candle, or maybe two, and the small rebellion against the dark it afforded was enough for Rey to feel much more at ease. She relaxed, her grip on her gun becoming more steady.

She crept down several more stairs.

Then, only three steps from the bottom, Rey heard voices.

She froze, knowing that in this level of darkness she’d only be seen if she moved.

There _were_ people down there.

Rey could hear at least three distinct voices, but if she focused she could make out occasional mutters of several more.  
Had she stumbled onto one of the illegal meetings Leia was talking about?  
Even if they were just discussing Jane Austen, it was after curfew and they were breaking the law.

Rey smiled, despite herself. She hated killing innocents, but as long as they weren’t innocent it made it that much easier.

Rey focused hard on the voices, ears straining for anything good.

Moving slowly, she slipped down the next few steps and practically floated onto the cold concrete floor at the bottom.

The voices were coming from the other side of the wall, the light from their candles casting long shadows in front of Rey.

She flattened herself against the wall and finally, creeping as close to the corner as she dared, she was able to make out words. They were speaking in German, and Rey took a moment to interpret them.

“…Is there enough time, though? I mean, in four days…” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, will there be enough time to fully execute the plan?” A man’s voice echoed.  
Rey held her breath. What plan? In four days?

She thought hard. What was happening in four days? Leia said she’d wanted to mission complete before the 17th, which was in five days.  
Nearly four now since the day was almost over.

Was Leia talking about their plan?

“…Everything is in order, don’t worry. My friends,” another man assured them, “by this time on the seventeenth of July, 1945, Berlin will be free of all tyrants and brash military of all kinds.”

Muted cheers sounded, followed by laughter.

Rey’s mind reeled. This did not sound good.

“But, Herr Weinmer, what of the assassins that tried to kill me yesterday?” a different man said, his voice simpering and high-pitched.

Herr Schneider.

What?

Rey’s heart rate nearly tripled. Her first mark, here?  
What the hell was going on?

“Yes, we know, Schneider, you’ve told us,” the voice that Schneider had identified as Herr Weinmer said, sounding annoyed. “And it’s clear that they’re just amateurs. They couldn’t even get you without squabbling.”

Rey’s fists clenched around her Beretta.  
How dare he. Amateurs?  
She found herself picturing the other assassin, Ren. He’d really fucked things up for her now, and even these petty insurgents, meeting in a damp basement, knew it.

“Now,” Weinmer said, after the chuckles his last sally had instigated, “is everything in order, do you have everything set up?”

“I’ve placed the packages in the barracks near the city limits,” one woman said.

“And all the weapons are in place, hidden at the ambush site by Viktoriapark,” Schneider said, “and I checked after the assassins had left. They had no idea they were there.

Rey glowered at the mischievous chortle Schneider let out.  
She couldn’t wait to get her hands on that little weasel.

Execution by bullet was too kind for him now; she was going to use her stilettos the next time she saw him.

“Right. Everyone, rendezvous at midnight, then we’ll drive the _der Scheißkerls_ out of our city!”

A roar of assent sounded, before Weinmer hushed them. “Quiet! The help are somewhere in the house, they’ll hear you!”

Nervous giggles sounded, and to Rey’s horror, she also heard rustling a moving.

Apparently, the meeting had just adjourned and they were coming right for her.

Time to make herself scarce.  
  
After a heart-stopping dash up the two sets of stairs, Rey flung herself out of the window she came in and prayed she hadn’t been seen.  
  
Rey couldn’t believe her luck. Not only had she proven that Weinmer was meeting in secret, but he was meeting with another known political tyrant. But the icing on the cake was that she had discovered a solid plot to run the Allied troops out of Berlin.

And she knew when and where.

The only question was, how to stop it?  
Rey couldn’t do it on her own.

A face popped into her head.

“Oh, hell no,” Rey said aloud, jogging down the dark streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “der Scheißkerl” is a German term that isn’t really fit to be translated. Essentially, Weinmer is pretty dang angry.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> I’m @emma_reylo on Twitter, come say hi if you liked this fic or if you have any questions! Questions about anything, history, espionage, or anything really, I’d love to hear from you!


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